by Noleen Wyatt-Jones

Created on: November 27, 2008   Last Updated: May 05, 2009

Dear Father Christmas,

I have to confess I am little surprised to be writing to you after all this time.I wonder, do you remember me as well as I do you? I am sure with all the children in the world to think about it must become a little difficult to recall all those now long grown up. I now have my own children and have to tried to instil in them the spirit of Christmas and all the magic associated with it, of which you play a big part.

For the first twelve years of my life it was the the thought of you that made Christmas so magical, and I would almost make myself sick with excitement on Christmas Eve. In fact my mother said it was the only day in the whole year when she did not have a battle to get me to go to bed; on the contrary I would be be in my pyjamas and all tucked up immediately after lunch, with my eyes clenched tightly shut in the hope of falling asleep quickly. My green felt stocking, a present from my beloved Godmother Isobel, lay neatly and expectantly at the end of my bed and I would curl myself into a ball to ensure that it was not inadvertently knocked off the bed before your arrival. How I would wish for the night to pass quickly so I could wake up to find that you had been! I remember that delicious feeling as I sleepily stretched my leg down the bed until I felt a lump and heard the familiar rustle of paper, and as wave after wave of excitement coursed through my body I knew without a doubt that you had been! I never for a second doubted your existence.

To me it didn't matter what was in the stocking it was the whole magic that surrounded you that was so compelling and you were as real to me as the birth of Jesus. Believeing in you meant that anything was possible. Thinking back I remember how I used to look through every catalogue to decide what I wanted to ask you for. My mother always limited me to ten items, but only one large item, so the whole process of choice took a long time. I never questioned why it was ten items I simply worked to that brief, and in a sense I guess it ensured I chose what I really wanted. One year I got the dolls house I had desired, another year it was Elizabeth, a doll who could walk and talk, another year it was a bicycle and each of those special presents is imprinted in my memory forever. Even now when I know that it was my beloved parents who purchased these items I still think of them as the presents you delivered. For the child in each of us you are inexorably linked to our parents.

Now I am a mother

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